Something Burning
by Never-Clip-My-Wings-x
Summary: A school trip to London; in which pupils get lost, staff get drunk, and rational thought flies out of the window. Tom/Nicki!
1. Mornings

He hadn't been this ridiculously nervous since he was a teenager going on his first date with the prettiest girl in the class.

The pupils of Waterloo Road were to descend upon London for a week, but what Tom was most nervous about was the fact that he and Nicki were in charge. That, for the minimum of four hours they were on the coach, they would be sat together, electricity crackling between them as it always did whenever they were in close proximity, both of them knowing better than to act upon it, however much they wanted to.

It was three o'clock in the morning – far, far too early to be up on a Monday in April. The coaches were due to arrive in ten minutes, the students in twenty. But the person he was waiting for fell into neither category. He checked his watch, and discovered that a mere minute had passed. He was sat on a freezing cold bench underneath Michael's window, wearing his favourite jeans, a thick jumper with a t-shirt, a coat and – much to Josh's embarrassment – a scarf.

Suddenly, headlights lit up the playground, and in an alarming screech of tyres, Nicki arrived. She flung her car door open, hurriedly getting out with a slightly flustered grin spread across her face.

"Sorry I'm late; those _bloody_ traffic lights... I swear, one day I'll take a chainsaw to those things." She complained, pulling a large black suitcase out of the boot of her car and slamming it with more force than she perhaps intended, a resounding crash filling the playground as she winced, with an expression following which suggested that she'd burnt the candle at both ends.

Her shiny dark brown hair was longer now; she'd allowed it to grow to almost shoulder length over the past couple of months, and she wore a baggy black t shirt with battered skinny jeans, further elongating her seemingly never ending legs. Her blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight; with no makeup on, she looked far more innocent and almost vulnerable... but he was convinced that Nicki Boston would never, ever look vulnerable... or innocent, for that matter.

"Well, in about ten hours, London's security will be threatened by the arrival of Waterloo Road. You have informed MI5 I presume?" she asked, smiling as they walked towards the bench underneath the window of Michael's office. The once shiny burgundy paint was cracking and flaking off the iron bench, and they sat down together in awkward silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shiver run through her body – she had clearly overestimated the temperature before getting dressed this morning – and he took his coat off and offered it to her.

Reluctantly, she took it, wrapping it around her lean body and sighing. She rested her head against the wall and looked at him with one bright blue eye, smiling. She always smiled when they were alone. He wondered to himself if he was one of the only people to know the Nicki underneath the hard-as-nails persona, underneath Miss Boston, the real woman who, contrary to popular belief, was kind, funny and caring.

"Can we get into the school?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts and making him jump.

"Er..." he replied, digging in the pocket of his jeans to find the key. Having produced his house, car, shed and back gate keys, he eventually found the ones he was looking for, pulling them out of his pocket, much to Nicki's amusement. He handed her the keys, and she stood up, pausing before she walked off towards the front of the school.

"Coffee?" she asked, which may as well have been rhetorical – at three in the morning, Tom was almost convinced that nobody of sound mind would deny caffeine. Especially when they were preparing to take the pupils of Waterloo Road to London – in fact, by the end of the week, he would probably be prescribed Valium.

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><p>They sat in the staff room together, drinking the coffee that Nicki had made. He couldn't deny, as he observed her moving sleepily around the kitchenette, how gorgeous she looked without her makeup, barely awake.<p>

"Tell you what, I needed this." She announced, handing him a mug full of steaming coffee, sitting down next to him, tipping her head back.

"We're taking Year Eleven and the Sixth Form to London, I'm gonna need bloody Amphetamines by the end of the week."

She spluttered a laugh into her coffee, and he smiled as he watched her. After downing her drink in a few unladylike gulps, her blue eyes began to brighten, opening fully and revealing hidden depths. She placed her empty mug on the messy coffee table, yawning and curling her denim-clad legs up into her body.

Tom placed his mug next to hers, and they yawned in unison, laughing as they made eye contact, blue on blue. The sound of the coaches arriving made them both turn in their seats, simultaneously standing up. She looked at him and, for some reason, started sniggering.

"What?" he asked, frowning bemusedly and looking around for the source of her amusement.

"Where did you get that scarf?" she giggled, raising her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling madly. He pushed her towards the door with a laugh,

"Get lost, Coco bloody Chanel!" he shouted after her with a grin.

"Alright Gok, calm down!" she teased, as he chased her out of the staff room, almost catching her t-shirt, the scent of her perfume filling the air as they ran through the school like a pair of children, her screaming girlishly as he caught up with her, grabbing her t-shirt and spinning her around. He started tickling her, and she tried her best to push him off.

"Stop, or the scarf gets it!" she shouted – she had somehow managed to grab the scarf from around his neck, and was now waving it victoriously above her head, holding it hostage.

There was an impatient knock at the doors they were stood by, and they turned to see one of the coach drivers rolling his eyes at them.

"Coming." Tom called, blushing, and Nicki tried to bite back a laugh, sniggering at his expression, reminiscent of a pupil who'd just been caught.

"Shut it, you." He elbowed her in the ribs, his eyes glinting as they walked down the steps at the front of the school, towards the coaches.

* * *

><p>"Josh?"<p>

"Yeah."

"Harley?"

"Yes miss!"

"Phoenix?"

"Mmmph."

Nicki collapsed back down in her uncomfortable seat on the double decker coach. Twenty minutes behind schedule, they were finally on their way – the students had brought with them an inexplicably large stash of all things unhealthy, which they were setting about devouring as her and Tom looked at each other, resigned to the fact that, for the next week, they were probably going to attain five hours sleep between them; if they were lucky.

Grantly, Chalky and Matt, all of whom had arrived later than the students, were sat on the top deck, looking as if they were in need of an enormous dose of caffeine. They had discovered, to their annoyance, that the on board drinks machines didn't work – Grantly had attempted to make himself a cup of tea and been squirted in the face by his drink – prompting a ten-minute tirade about the state of Britain today; although nobody was entirely sure why that was linked to the drinks machines.

"First stop in London; Starbucks." She announced, leaning back and sighing. She'd never liked the taste of coffee, but if it woke her up even a little, then it was worth it. He smiled back at her, and, despite her telling herself that she was as hard as nails and refused to show her feelings, her heart fluttered.

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><p><em>Hope you liked it – reviews are enormously appreciated. I also want to know if I'm the only one who thinks Tom and Nicki should get together! :P<em>


	2. One For The Road

_Thank you so much for the reviews – each and every one of you is amazing. I'm sorry about how long this took - I should make sure I have chapters pre-written, but that's never going to happen! Fingers crossed it's alright._

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><p>The coach quietened down after an hour or so – presumably due to the teenage passengers crashing back down to earth from their sugar highs with considerable force, thus falling asleep and leaving their teachers in peace for a while.<p>

Tom and Nicki had been talking non-stop for the first hour of the journey, but had now decided to move onto 'breakfast'; neither of them had eaten anything since waking up, other than the coffee and a biscuit in the staff room. She'd been sensible and brought with her a box of cereal bars, fruit and nuts, whereas he had simply picked up every sugar filled concoction he could find – jelly tots, mini eggs and strawberry laces. They took the mature decision to start on the sugar.

Fifteen minutes later; the e-numbers had kicked in, and both teachers were behaving like teenagers. They had laughed so much that they had ended up crying about the time when Grantly had ended up locked in the English store cupboard for a weekend, having been listening to a tape and not hearing the caretaker come and lock the doors.

"Honestly, he was absolutely _mutinous_ when we found him!" Tom managed as he tried to stop laughing. Nicki attempted to take a sip of water, and only succeeded in spluttering it all over Tom, who, still laughing, didn't seem to realise. She closed the water, placing it in her bag and rummaging around to find something else.

"Here," she whispered, and he felt for a moment as if it was just them, alone, as she took a bottle of beer out of her bag, passing it to him and opening one for herself, "Be quiet." Tom took his Swiss army knife from his pocket; sliding the bottle opener out and handing it to her. She expertly opened the bottle, handing the knife back to him and taking a swig of beer.

After a few minutes of silence, he murmured, "We really shouldn't be doing this." Their bottles were half empty, and she grinned as she took a sip.

"I've got more in my suitcase." She said, near enough whispering in his ear; her voice husky as she spoke so only he could hear her. Was she trying to give him a heart attack before they even arrived?

"We'll need it." He answered, and she laughed, eyes sparkling. Who'd known that Nicki could be so devious?

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><p>The first thing that Tom became aware of when he woke was that he wasn't in bed; or especially comfortable. The second was that, wherever he was, he was moving – and he realised that they were still on the coach. The third thing was that, rather than sleeping alone, he had somehow ended up with Nicki's head resting on his shoulder, her right hand on his chest, and his arm around her waist.<p>

Opening his eyes, he could see her peaceful facial expression, lips slightly parted, blue eyes closed. She mumbled something and shifted her head slightly, her hand dropping from his chest to his leg. He gulped.

"Er... Nicki?" he said quietly, and she groaned, eyes fluttering open and closing almost instantly. After a few seconds, she seemed to wake up, opening her eyes and looking straight into his. She glanced down, realising her position and hurriedly moving, blushing fervently.

Her hair was matted and had begun to curl; her eyes barely open and her long legs were curled up into her body, shoes abandoned on the floor. She yawned, covering her mouth and closing her eyes again.

"What bloody time is it?" she asked, flexing her shoulders and stretching her neck. She looked beautiful, he mused, without makeup – in a way he'd never thought possible, she looked sweet. He quickly dismissed this thought, reminding himself who he was thinking about. Nicki Boston was not sweet. In fact, if she could read his mind right now, he'd probably be getting a punch – nothing as girly as a slap.

"Oi," She prodded him, smiling, and pulling him swiftly out of his thoughts, "Time?"

"Oh, er..." he glanced at his watch, squinting through the dark of the coach, "Seven."

She groaned, resting her head back on his shoulder and yawning, "I'm not being dramatic or anything, but I think I might quite possibly be dead."

He laughed, and she opened her eyes a crack, looking at him with what could only be described as total exhaustion crossed with amusement, however the brightness in her eyes was returning, her blue orbs sparkling.

"Is your hair naturally curly?" he blurted, mentally cursing himself.

_Oh, well done. Of all the things you could have said..._

"Sadly, yes," she replied, a little surprised by the question, "Why; do I look like a poodle?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair self consciously. He grabbed her wrist, preventing her from straightening the kinks.

"You should leave it like that more often."

_Good god, was he even capable of intelligent speech?_

She laughed, opening her eyes fully and sitting up, "Sorry, have I made your shoulder ache?" she asked, wincing as she moved. She rubbed his shoulder gently; and he could smell her perfume as she moved.

"S'alright, I make a good pillow, do I?" he smiled, withdrawing his arm from around her waist – she seemingly hadn't realised that it was there, and resisted slightly, before allowing him to move.

"I'll check on the kids." She said, for lack of a better response. She got up from her seat, still barefoot, rubbing her sore back as she walked sleepily up the aisle of the coach.

"Miss, are we nearly there yet?" asked a sleepy voice midway up the coach, which Tom thought belonged to Scout.

"We're on the motorway, we'll be there in about half an hour." She told the student quietly, and Tom could imagine her smile, her kind blue eyes, and her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

"Miss, I feel sick." Another complained, and he listened to her soothing voice, closing his eyes and smiling to himself, despite thinking he was a soppy old git.

Suddenly, she was beside him, sitting back down in the seat, hair bouncing on her shoulders, looking sideways at him with one eye open.

"This week is going to be hell." She acknowledged, sighing and leaning back against the dull, uncomfortable upholstery of her seat.

"Tell me about it. On the other hand, at least Grantly will probably do something stupid – maybe he'll get himself locked in the Tower or something." He mused, smiling at her reaction, her nose scrunching up, her perfect white grin revealed as she laughed.

"Yeah, but we're taking Waterloo Road to Buckingham Palace, the theatre _and_ the National Gallery. We'll be viewed with utter contempt by the time we've left." She replied, resigned to the inevitable fact that they would probably be banned from London for the rest of their lives – or at least all of the tourist attractions.

Without warning, there was a great crash from the deck above, swiftly followed by Grantly's shouts of fury, and Matt, Chalky and the students' collective laughter – everyone on the lower deck could only imagine the events unfolding above them.

* * *

><p>"Oi, Josh, are your dad and Boston having it off?" Lauren whispered to her best friend as she observed her two teachers in what she thought was an inconspicuous manner – involving her peering over the seats with binoculars she had stolen from Mr. Budgen's pocket earlier.<p>

"Apparently not..." he paused, thinking, "But I reckon they will. Honestly, they flirt like... I don't even know what." He told her frankly, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She snorted, still spying from her vantage point at the back of the coach. Unexpectedly, the two people she was spying_ on_ turned around, and she swiftly hid behind the seat, cringing.

"Oh well done, James Bond." Josh teased, as everyone around them joined in laughing.

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><p>"Was I seeing things, or was Lauren just watching us through a pair of binoculars?" Nicki asked, shaking her head in disbelief.<p>

"After ten years at Waterloo Road, _nothing_ would surprise me. They've probably made a plan to bug the hotel rooms – you know, they all think we're having a passionate flipping affair."

She smiled, raising her eyebrows. The silence was awkward; there hadn't been any, other than when they were asleep, for the past four hours, and neither of them was entirely sure how to clamber over the block in the flow of conversation.

Partially because they both knew that they could easily be having a passionate affair; and spending a week in each other's company would test the strength of their willpower.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed it – do review – I grin madly whenever I get an email telling me someone's left a review - what can I say; my life is sad! xxx<em>


	3. Won't Get Fooled Again

_The response to this fic has absolutely astounded me; it's been phenomenal – and to think; I wasn't even going to bother uploading it; because I thought it was rubbish! Thank you so much, all of you – you're really amazing. I've been grinning madly every time I get a review; to the extent that my best friend thought I'd gone completely insane._

_I do have another fic that I'm working on; which is nowhere near as cheerful, I admit, but it will contain Tom and Nicki. Also, everyone, go and read _Bleeding Love_ by _HedgieX _– it's amazing and definitely deserves more reviews. Sorry for babbling on – this is a long chapter anyway!_

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><p>Sleep deprived, the staff and students of Waterloo Road arrived in London. Their hotel was in the centre of London, just south of the river and a four star establishment. The teachers had mused that this was possibly a mistake, as on school trips, something almost always went wrong involving the hotel, however they had agreed to overlook this in the light of the discovery that the hotel had a spa, swimming pool and room service (which the students had been expressly banned from using).<p>

"Right, you lot, we have arrived at the hotel," Nicki shouted over the rabble, pausing and smiling as the students cheered, "You've already been told your room numbers, so when you've got your cases, collect the key from reception and go up in the lift to the correct floor. Unpack _tidily, _and meet us down at reception again in one hour. Got it?"

"Do you have a bad feeling that something's going to go wrong?" Tom asked her as she turned back towards him. In the light of the sunrise, she looked so glowing and beautiful that he almost forgot where they were and told her so – but only almost, for there was a loud yell from the back of the coach, and words that indicated that someone had dropped their bag on Grantly's foot.

"I feel like that all the time," she admitted, laughing at Grantly's furious expression, "But it's all good fun, isn't it?"

"You've clearly never been on a residential with Waterloo Road before." He told her, with a slightly forlorn expression on his face, one eyebrow raised, half a grin on his face.

"It'll be an experience." She answered wryly, her eyes full of laughter and sparkling as the last of the students filed off the coach. She stepped off the coach, still barefoot having thrown her shoes into her bag, and into a sea of shouting students, cutting through the throngs of teenagers talking far louder than was strictly necessary.

"One you'll never forget; methinks." He added, following her as the students began to depart into the hotel. It was a row of large Victorian townhouses – partially whitewashed, with wooden framed windows and brown bricks.

How right he was – although they didn't know it yet; neither of them would forget this particular school trip in a hurry.

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><p>"So; today we're doing the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, tomorrow we're giving them a free reign, God help London, Wednesday, the Tower and the British Museum, Thursday, a river cruise thingy, Buckingham Palace and the theatre, Friday we're going on the London Eye, yeah?" he questioned, pointing to various parts of the itinerary for the trip.<p>

They were sat on Nicki's bed in her room, devouring a packet of Kettle Chips – they'd somehow wound up with adjoining rooms, which, she had pointed out, would be excellent for sharing their alcohol and food, and spending their evenings talking rather than watching awful TV. He had been more than happy with this plan.

"Yeah, and there's a restaurant in the hotel where we'll have breakfast and tea; the students are in charge of their own lunches." She added, leaning over him to get her bottle of water from her bedside table. Admittedly, she could quite easily have got him to get it for her, but she thought it far more fun to tease him by 'accidently' brushing his leg with her hand, watching his facial expression as he tried to remain neutral. She didn't usually have this effect on men; and while she could, she decided to exploit the position at every possible opportunity.

Annoyingly, he appeared to be equally good at this game. He often succeeded in brushing her waist with his hand, and she was convinced that he knew that he was sending sparks of electricity up her spine. It was surely just a question of who would crack first.

She'd heard his reputation; and, frankly, it didn't sound good. But Tom was no player; it just so happened that most of the women he dated seemed to be his colleagues; and each and every one of his relationships had seemingly been doomed to failure from before they began. The chemistry between them, however, was undeniable – even Janeece had commented on it. On the other hand, Janeece _had_ managed to convince herself that Sian and Matt were having an affair; so her powers of deduction were not exactly what one would call sharp.

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><p>It was 9.30am in London, and the staff and students of Waterloo Road were waiting in the formerly classy, tidy lobby of the hotel they were staying in. Needless to say, after Waterloo Road had been present for an hour, the place looked as if a tornado had run through it, and for good measure, a couple of bombs had been dropped.<p>

Chalky tried and failed miserably to tidy the entrance up, pushing chairs and sofas back into their rightful places, however just as soon as he did this, they moved back into their former positions. Matt and Grantly were blundering around attempting to get the students into one group, as opposed to them milling around in uncountable gangs.

Suddenly, there was a loud, united shout of "Oi, shut it!" from Nicki and Tom, who were stood at the bottom of the stairs, both mysteriously wearing different clothes to those that they had arrived in. Both students and teachers exchanged what they thought to be knowing glances.

"Thank God we didn't go to Paris, we'd never have got them out of the bedroom." Grantly complained, much to the amusement of Matt, who having been best friends with Steph Haydock, knew how badly wrong both she and Grantly usually were when it came to the nature of their colleagues' relationships.

"Told ya." Lauren said triumphantly to Finn, who rolled his eyes and muttered something about her being a smug cow as he handed over the £5 bet to her outstretched hand.

"Right, you lot, get on the coaches, same seats as before. If any of you make a fuss, you will be sitting at the front next to Miss Boston and I." Tom announced authoritatively, prompting Grantly to add another remark about them 'not being able to stop playing bloody tonsil tennis for long enough to discipline their students' – despite the fact that nobody actually had proof that they were anything more than close friends.

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><p>The tours of the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey went reasonably well. Nobody knocked anything over, insulted anyone <em>or<em> got lost – which, as Tom stated several times, was both a minor miracle, and like pride before a fall. He was so convinced, in fact, from his past experiences on school trips, that he was prepared to place a bet with Nicki, which she gladly accepted.

If the entire trip went without incident, he had said, he would be willing to pay for drinks for the next month. She had attempted to remind him of the 'fun run' – the bet which had involved him buying two enormous bottles of champagne at great expense, having overestimated his fitness. Despite this, he was so confident in the likelihood of something going catastrophically wrong that they placed the bet – signed with a novelty pen from a man dressed up as a bear on Westminster Bridge.

They were now sat at the long table in the hotel's restaurant having finished their tea (a deeply nutritious steak and chips, followed by a shared dessert of chocolate ice cream), opposite each other, trying their level best to talk over the noise being created by their students. They had both changed clothes again – with Nicki purposely wearing a low cut top to see where his eyes lingered. She was stunned to discover that his eyes generally remained looking at hers, rather than travelling south, where half of the male students' eyes had become drawn to – which was, frankly, disturbing, bearing in mind that she was almost twice the age of the Year Elevens, many of whom had spent the last forty minutes staring at her chest in what they thought to be an inconspicuous manner.

They'd sat in a circle in the lobby, playing card games with the Year 13's until the 10pm curfew – Nicki was surprisingly good at poker, and had succeeded in gaining three packets of chocolate, some foamy bananas, a necklace of sweets and Tom's jumper. She was wearing all of her winnings – attaching the packets of foamy bananas to her earrings, and storing the chocolates underneath a hat she had obtained somehow – nobody was entirely sure who it belonged to, but there was some rumour flying about that it may have once been Grantly's. The students had developed their liking of Miss Boston – many of them had thought that she was overly strict, sharp and disciplined – but this holiday was revealing a different side to her; one which everyone liked.

As Nicki and Tom made their way upstairs, both exhausted from the day's events, they both seemed to silently feel comfortable, and as if there was nothing in the world for them to worry about. Other than the impending trips around London which would almost certainly result in them receiving lifetime bans from the capital.

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><p>She was dressed in favourite pyjamas, free of make-up and with her hair still damp and curly, checking on the students in their rooms and wishing them goodnight. It was odd to see them all in their pyjamas; and undeniably weird for them to see her barefoot, cosmetics-free and wearing nightclothes.<p>

"You alright, girls?" she asked, opening the final door on her rounds of the corridors. The large, spacious room contained Madi, Shona and Rhona, who had been surprisingly quiet this evening - for them, at least.

"Yeah Miss, thanks." Madi smiled as she applied some cream to her now make-up free face. Nicki smiled back as the girls wished her goodnight, exiting the room quietly and padding across the corridor to Tom's room.

She knocked twice on the white wooden door, waiting outside a little nervously. It was one thing for them to spend time together as close friends, playing poker, drinking and eating, but entirely another for them to sit in a hotel room, clad only in pyjamas, alone together at 11pm.

He opened the door, and she found herself smiling, mentally cursing herself for looking like such an idiot. He beckoned her to come in, walking back into the room. She followed him, closing the door quietly behind her and sitting on the bed next to where he stood. The TV was on; although he was clearly not watching it, rather finishing unpacking his suitcase – i.e; stuffing all of his clothes into a wardrobe messily.

"I am _so_ tired; I could sleep forever." She admitted, yawning. She got up from the bed, going over to the window and surveying the London skyline. He joined her, and they were so close in the limited space between the two walls, he could catch the scent of shampoo from her freshly washed hair. He was so sorely tempted to put his arms around her, and hold her forever, but reason told him that it would be the most inappropriate thing to do at this point in time.

Little did he know that she wanted him to do precisely that. Of course, they were both far too proud and stubborn to admit this, and so they stood in companionable silence, watching the moon and its' reflection on the river.

"I was wondering if..." she said, breaking the silence and diverting his full attention straight back to her – not that most of it hadn't already been focused on her – "If you want to, tomorrow, would you like to go for lunch?".

She was pretty sure that those words had exited her mouth in a jumble – she could feel her heart beating in her chest as she waited for his response. God, why was she being like this? She did _not_ fancy Tom Clarkson. Absolutely not. Well, at least she'd refuse to admit it to herself, anyway.

"Yeah, alright." He answered. Trying to sound casual and not desperate at a time like this was almost impossible, but he hoped upon hope that he'd succeeded.

"Great." She smiled freely, and he swore there was a hint of relief in those perfect, crystal clear blue eyes of hers. But this was Nicki. There was _no way_ she would fall for him.

Or was there?

"Anyway," she turned, walking back to his bed and sitting down. He followed her, pretending that he was actually interested in whatever programme was on until she next spoke, "Night." She finished; her voice almost a whisper in his ear.

"Night, Nicki." He answered, as she got up and walked towards the door. He walked after her, which he told himself was not because he wanted to kiss her goodnight, but because he wanted to lock the door and double check that all was (reasonably) calm with the students.

They stood in the doorway awkwardly, and he finally decided to break the tension by kissing her on the cheek. Thank God, she didn't punch him.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek in return, and their embrace lasted for a little longer than it perhaps should have, allowing them both to enjoy the rare contact. He was pleased to discover that without her high heels, she was shorter than him by an inch or so – and she actually felt small as they released each other, her exiting from his hotel room silently, albeit with a wide smile upon her face – one matched almost exactly by him as he locked the door and turned the TV off.

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><p><em>Please review – I love every one of you like... I don't know, but I love you. :D<em>

_I'm sorry about how long this was – it felt like rambling to me, but everyone wants an update; so here it is, I guess. I don't want to end up churning out a tonne of rubbish though, so I won't update again until I'm happy with my next chapter._


	4. Careless Love

_You lot are going to give me a nervous breakdown soon enough, I swear! :P However, I aim to please, and so I have dedicated my evening to writing this despite Desperate Housewives being on and me being totally knackered – fingers crossed you enjoy it. And you lot need to make accounts – I want to reply to your reviews, but unless I make author's notes a mile long; I can't!_

_But just quickly; _Wooppwooop – _I hope you have a nice holiday and that you actually get to read this – I've been working to get it finished before 2am!_

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><p>She woke at 2am from a restless few hours of sleep, to the sounds of thunder outside the hotel. She swallowed, biting her lip as she rolled out of bed and padded quietly towards the window, hardly daring to look out.<p>

She'd never admit it to anyone, but she was absolutely _terrified_ of thunderstorms. She'd survived three tours of duty in horrendous places, been shot in the stomach and watched one of her best friends die before her eyes, but the thought of a thunderstorm scared the living daylights out of her.

There was a loud clap of thunder and a simultaneous flash of lightening, and she instinctively screamed, clasping her hand over her mouth. She began pacing the length of her room, breathing heavily and trying in vain to remain calm. She could feel her heart racing as if she were about to jump off a cliff; pounding against her ribcage so hard she was convinced that Tom would probably hear it in his room next door.

Now there was a thought. _Tom._

She didn't like to admit that she was scared. She usually thought it better to face her fear than to show her vulnerability, but when he was just next door, she was internally debating waking him. He wouldn't be angry – he wouldn't tease her, unlike most men she knew.

_Coward._

That's what they'd called her. One night – the last on what would be her final tour of duty, there had been a terrific thunderstorm, illuminating the desert climate in which their camp sat. She'd shook with terror all the way through it – and all her colleagues had done was tease her.

"_Scared of thunderstorms? C'mon, love, you're meant to be a soldier, are you? You've been shot; you've run through machine guns firing. Don't be such a bloody wimp."_

She'd been more terrified than she'd ever imagined was possible. You couldn't shoot the weather, kill it stone dead. When someone fired a gun at you, all you had to do was fire straight back at them. They didn't understand.

Another flash of lightening, an even louder clap of thunder. She screamed inherently; louder than she thought she could without intending to.

There was a knocking on the wall, and she spun round, dizzy at the feelings she was experiencing. Her eyesight was making the room spin wildly – she felt as though she'd just stepped off a roller coaster which had cycled round seven times, and then done a couple of cartwheels to add to the madness.

"Nicki, are you alright?" Tom's voice came through the wall, and she breathed a sigh, comforted by the sound of his voice.

_You soppy cow, Boston._

"Yeah, I..." she replied, realising that her voice had risen in pitch and it was blindingly obvious to anyone that she was terrified, "I'm fine."

She could almost see him frowning and shaking his head; but he chose not to push it, falling silent and allowing her space to think for a moment or so. As there was another blinding flash of lightning, she choked on her own breath, curling up on her bed and breathing erratically, pressing her lips together as she hugged her long legs.

She may well have felt like a coward, and if it were anything else, she would have sorted it out herself – she took great pride in the fact that she could be fiercely independent, and not rely on anyone – but in the face of a thunderstorm which she knew would keep them up half the night anyway, she banished her pride and walked over to the door, opening it as quietly as she possibly could, taking the key card and tiptoeing down the corridor.

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><p>There were two knocks on the door, and he knew instantly that it was her.<p>

He'd heard her scream; certainly once, perhaps twice in the past five minutes, and he could tell that she was terrified.

This being Nicki; he somewhat doubted that it was anything as petty as a spider or a rat – in fact, he imagined that Nicki Boston, even when unarmed at 2am wearing a pair of pyjamas, could quite easily be a match for a hungry lion, should the need arise.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but her screams made his blood run ice cold through his veins. As a proud woman, he knew full well that she didn't scream unless something had well and truly paralyzed her with fear – this was the woman who had rugby tackled a drug dealer who was well known to carry knives. He stopped his train of thought short as he walked almost silently to the door, fumbling with the key card as he unlocked it.

Never in a million years would he have thought that he would ever answer a hotel door at 2am to Nicki Boston, clad in a pair of pyjamas, quaking and with salty tears running down her pale face – whether she was aware of their presence or not. Her long, toned arms were wrapped around her body; and despite the heat and humidity, she was shivering as if she was in the Arctic.

She didn't need to say anything – he stepped out into the corridor, put an arm around her shoulder and guided her into his room, gently shutting the door behind them as she sat down on the messy bed, eyes darting all over the room, illuminated by two flickering bedside lamps, as her breathing finally began to slow.

"Thunder?" he asked, and she nodded, eyes wide and finally focusing on him, matted curls bouncing on her bare shoulders as she swallowed.

"I've been scared of it all my life," she stated, as if trying to justify her turning up at such an unsociable hour, biting her bottom lip, "Stupid really, isn't it? I mean, I've done three tours of duty as a soldier, and the only time I was scared was when we had a thunderstorm on the last night I was there. Bloody coward I am, aren't I?" she added in a stream of words, entirely without taking a breath, looking away from him and to the cream carpet, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world as she awaited his response.

"Nicki, listen to me." He instructed her, lifting her gaze by brushing her jaw line, "You're not a coward. Let's face it; anyone who volunteers willingly to take Waterloo Road on a school trip is doing the equivalent of jumping out of a plane."

She smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes, still filled with fear and uncertainty over whether or not she should be here – whether or not she was welcome. She didn't know just how welcome her prescience was, he mused silently.

"It's such a stupid fear, though, and I woke you up, and..." she continued, knowing that she was mumbling her words and probably not making much sense, however, it was an improvement on the alternative – silence, interrupted by thunder and her screams. At least this way she could distract herself from the storm, and remain relatively calm, despite still shaking.

She noticed tears sliding down her face, and wiped them away furiously, unwilling to show her vulnerability which few knew existed to a man who had known her all of four and a half months. God knew; he had enough problems as it was.

Instead of answering with words, he simply drew the bedcovers over her as if she was a child, crouching down to her eye level as he got off the bed. His fingers glided down her lightly tanned arms; soothing her as she finally closed her eyes.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning light up the room, she grasped his hand as tightly as was humanly possible as the clap of thunder followed, taking the power supply of the area with it. All of the lights went out, and Tom was left stumbling around in an attempt to regain the balance he had lost – and failing miserably.

Firstly, he tripped over his suitcase handle as he attempted to get round to the other side of the bed – causing him to go flying into the mirrored doors on the wardrobe, causing a loud bang, and consequently making him land on the bed in what could be labelled a compromising position – involving his lips and Nicki's ending up just a few centimetres away from each other, and her body wholly underneath his.

Fortunately for him (and, he thought, his manhood), she found the whole thing infinitely amusing – and as she squealed at his touch unintentionally, the fear she had felt a mere few seconds ago vanished, replaced by laughter as he rolled over, attempting to regain some form of dignity.

"That went well." He observed; both of them totally distracted from the storm still raging outside as they lay next to each other, her still laughing almost silently.

He wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time in a long time – possibly ever, in a thunderstorm, - she felt safe. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace; content with the sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest as he stroked her hair.

For tonight; she could pretend that he cared enough to do this for her; not purely because he wanted a decent night's sleep without her screaming every couple of minutes. She smiled to herself – she liked that thought.

As they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, they were both smiling at much the same thoughts – how it would feel to stay here, like this, forever. Neither had ever been that close to someone having known them for that shorter length of time – unless, of course, they were in a relationship – perhaps a topic worth avoiding, for now.

Careless, careless love.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed – I expect this chapter will end up being edited at some point as I'm not entirely happy with it... but hey, it'll do for now, I suppose. Reviews are so, so, so valued! :D<em>


	5. Slide Away

_I hope this chapter is all right; I will get round to answering all your reviews someday - but for now, just thank you. This chapter is for HedgieX, who I love very muchly._

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><p>He slowly awoke; aware of the presence in his arms shifting slightly, her body warm against his. The storm had subsided – it was now 5am, and the sunlight was slowly beginning to seep through the partially drawn crimson curtains.<p>

He could smell her perfume – spicy and fruity, mixed with the scent of her shampoo, her hair against his neck as she slept soundly, her arms wound around his as they slept on their sides, her head coming to rest back on him rather than the pillows, her long legs tangled with his.

His arms were wrapped firmly around her waist, and, for one moment, he thought she was topless – his fingertips were brushing the soft skin on her stomach as he held her peacefully sleeping form. He moved his hands slightly above her naval (pierced – which he would never have expected from her – but then again; Nicki was full of surprises), and discovered a rough dent in her skin. His eyes still closed; he ran his finger over it again, and determined that it was an old burn – however, in the process of doing this, he had woken her up.

She mumbled something incomprehensible as she stretched her long, silky legs out, entwining them with his. Suddenly, it seemed to occur to her where she was, who she was with, and where his hands were, and she pulled away quickly, pulling her grey vest top over the area his hands had just been resting on, wrapping her arms around her body, hoping that he wouldn't ask. Hoping he'd just leave it be and say nothing more about it – that he wouldn't care; just like every other man she'd ever known.

But, of course, it wasn't to be.

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><p>He sat up, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes; so intense, even in the vague sunlight, that she diverted her gaze to avoid getting lost in his orbs. She drew away as he touched her arm lightly; testing the waters to see if she'd let him touch her, as if he was taming a wild animal.<p>

"It's okay, Nicki." he reassured her gently, and she relaxed a little at the comforting sound of his voice, closing her eyes and listening to him. It soothed her at the same time as terrifying her, stupid as it was, to know that he cared enough about her to want to comfort her. Enough to want to know her; the person, her feelings, emotions, her past, rather than leaving her alone with her thoughts, thinking over the same things; again and again.

This time, he grasped her right hand in his, moving it away from her stomach, leaving only her arm between his gaze and the marks on her abdomen that she loathed; that she wouldn't show anyone for fear of them staring and whispering about her.

As soon as he touched her arm, she dropped it from covering her scars, awaiting his reaction. She'd had gasps, laughs, even the odd sigh as, one by one, men had realised the true extent of her war wounds, and instantly decided that she wasn't worth having. A lone tear made its' way down her cheek, and he brushed it away with his free hand; waiting for her to open her eyes and let him in.

As she looked up, she met his gaze – a mixture of compassion, understanding and almost relief. She couldn't imagine what he could be relieved about – who in their right mind would want to even know her, once they'd seen the jagged scars across her ribcage and upper stomach, where there had once been smooth, tanned skin.

His aqua blue eyes were a release from her torment – he looked at her in a way she'd never believed she could be seen, with her scar. It was as if he understood the agony it had given her – not only physically, but mentally, knowing that she couldn't ever be viewed as _normal_ with the marks, still raw, even though the incident causing them had happened almost ten years ago.

"Come here." He whispered, enclosing her fragile, now shivering body with his strong arms, whispering into her matted hair, stroking her back as she shook, sobbing into his chest as she liberated the anguish that had been bottled up inside her for so many years, waiting until her tears subsided to ask her further questions.

She felt safe, still, in his arms – safer, and strangely happier, than she had felt in a long, long time. She hated herself, in part, for letting him see a side to her that few, if any, knew existed – but she knew that Tom wouldn't dream of hurting her. Somehow, even with her mistrust of men, she would trust Tom Clarkson with her life.

_Soppy bitch._

For what felt like forever, she had portrayed herself as strong, unbreakable, and fearless – and it was a relief to let herself go, to let someone see the real person behind the mask, rather than the facade she had put up to everyone for God only knew how long.

Her top had ridden up her flat, tanned stomach again; revealing the ugly scar that she had loathed for years and years. She'd never told anyone what had happened, the day she'd got it – she couldn't bear to relive that day, although she could remember it as if it was happening all over again.

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><p>"<em>Serge!" yelled one of her young officers from behind the partially demolished wall of sandy rocks, "Get down!"<em>

_She sprinted across the dry, hot desert, from one half of the regiment , in heavy gunfire, towards the remainder of her officers – many of them still in their teens and early twenties. She wasn't scared – she'd done this before, bullets soaring past her head and missing by just a few inches; but this felt different. The atmosphere was charged; nervous – they'd lost one of their men, only this morning, to a roadside bomb, hammering home just how dangerous this job was, and how thin the thread by which their lives hung had become._

_Ducking behind the wall, she loaded her heavy, cumbersome gun and fired across the vast desert, knowing the young men beside her were doing the very same; quite literally fighting for their lives. Slowly, the gunfire began to subside, and the troop grouped together to advance down the dusty road just beyond the wall; the buildings each side abandoned and falling down, the scene dismal._

"_Follow me, and stay alert." She warned her officers quietly – although she needn't have bothered; for each and every officer was on edge since the explosion this morning. She'd always loved the way they treated her – as one of the boys, part of the gang; rather than a vulnerable woman who couldn't look after herself. They respected her, because they wanted to gain her respect._

_Suddenly, the deafening sound of gunfire came from the surrounding buildings, which, just seconds ago, they had thought to be entirely deserted. Panic filled her mind, a million thoughts racing as she shouted out to her troops._

"_Dive!" she commanded; and each officer dropped to the floor, guns aimed at the sources of the shots. Nicki, however, remained standing; walking cautiously down the seemingly deserted road, her gun poised to defend herself. She'd been told that this road was clear from IED's, and so they didn't need bomb disposers with the troop – their only danger was real people. She wasn't afraid of that – she was a fighter._

_Something hit her in the stomach; a searing pain shooting through her body as she found herself being flung towards a building which was now blazing; unable to move for the excruciating pain centred just above her naval, below her ribcage, and spreading through her body. A combination of the sun and the flaming building was blinding her, the heat burning her body as she heard shouts from behind her. She could tell that she was at an odd angle; twisted so that her stomach was almost touching the burning building._

_A block of flaming wood dropped from the roof of what had once been somebody's home, landing on her stomach and, if possible, adding to the agony._

"_Serge!" a soldier yelled, turning her over, pulling the burning blocks off her body, unsure how he would possibly be able to stem the flow of blood without further injuring her. She could see his eyes; clear blue, fading as she began to do the same, feeling her eyes roll back in her skull._

_She'd been told later that the piece of wood had burnt straight through her uniform, giving her third degree burns as well as the bullet wound. She'd been in a coma for two months; the odds of her surviving had been practically non-existent – but, being as stubborn and determined as she was, she'd pulled through – only to find that, despite three skin grafts, the scars on her stomach would never fade._

_The young corporal who had saved her was killed by a roadside bomb on the day she woke up. She went to his funeral, but didn't feel worthy of it. She was meant to protect him; not the other way around. She'd failed, being so self-assured that a man – an expectant father and loving husband – had died, because she hadn't been there. They told her, over and over, that it wasn't her fault – but it was. She knew it._

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><p>"Third degree burns and a bullet." She murmured quietly, unaware of the tears leaking from her eyes. Her vision was blurred, but Tom's bright blue orbs looking straight into hers were as clear as anything she'd ever seen; losing herself in them.<p>

She rested her head on his chest, clad in a dark t-shirt, letting him touch the scar, still raw despite the years that had passed. He traced the rough edges with his fingertips, watching her smile as he unintentionally tickled her, eyes closed, body wrapped around his.

"You're still beautiful." He stated, almost wishing that those words had never exited his mouth, cursing himself internally, waiting for her reaction. He had spent so long, getting her to trust him, that he couldn't bear to see her flee again. But instead, she looked up at him with her big, clear, sparkling blue eyes, smiling at him.

"You think so?" she asked softly, which, to him, didn't justify a vocal response. He suspected that she hadn't been told often enough just how beautiful she was; so simply nodded, before she closed her eyes, her long limbs still shaking slightly, as he wrapped his arms around her once more; protecting her from the world that had hurt her so much.

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><p><em>I love you for reviewing - a lot! xxxx<em>


	6. The Eye of Your Mind

_This has got rather angst-y of late, hasn't it? I promise it'll be fluffy next chapter! Thank you very much for all of the reviews. I have a one-shot and another story coming up soon as well; but I'll shut up because I'm rambling A LOT._

-

She woke in his strong arms, her face buried in his chest, one of his hands in her tangled hair, the other on her waist. The bed sheets were messily crumpled around their bodies; sunlight illuminating part of the bedroom from the crack in the curtains, and she squinted as she moved, the bright light blinding her for a moment. She could smell his aftershave as she shifted slightly – and the smell comforted her, as she closed her eyes and smiled.

As he woke up, his grip tightened around her, and he appeared to breathe in her scent as he shifted his position. They had somehow ended up at the very edge of the bed – on what she now knew to be the side he slept on. She opened her eyes a crack, and saw his clear blue orbs looking straight back at her; and even through the sleepiness they were both suffering, his eyes were bright and just how she always remembered them.

Not, of course, that she thought of Tom Clarkson's eyes at _any_ point. And she certainly didn't dream about them. She was far, _far _too tough for that.

"Morning." He murmured, smiling as she yawned and curled her lean body into his. Although it was quite hot outside, they lay together as if they were trying to keep warm in the middle of winter. Secretly, she rather enjoyed this – it was rare for her to be able to lie in bed with a man, silently, holding each other as if they would never let go.

She groaned in response, flexing her shoulders and moving slightly further up the unmade bed to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel his hand massaging her back, moving to where her scar was and brushing the edges of the raw, red mark. Men had always run when they realised her imperfections. They didn't like the thought of damaged goods.

"D'you mind if I use your shower?" she asked, sitting up partially, resting her elbow on the untouched pillow beside her. It was 6:45am, and the students were expected to be down at breakfast in just over an hour – giving her time to wash her hair, get dressed, do her makeup and come back to Tom's room, before going down to breakfast, and, eventually, out into London.

"Feel free." he replied, his voice deeper than usual due to the lack of sleep they had both had last night; for various reasons. After last night, he didn't believe that he could ever see her in quite the same way ever again.

He hadn't known that this vulnerable, timid and afraid part of Nicki had existed, and he was stunned at how close she had allowed him to be last night. He knew that she wasn't the sort of person who let people in; let them see a different side to her – but he couldn't have imagined that he would be the one allowed to see the damage the world had done to her.

-

Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opened, steam escaping into the bedroom.

Nicki's head appeared around the wooden door, her hair dripping wet and already beginning to form curls as she coughed to catch his attention.

"Er... Tom, there aren't any towels in the bathroom."

He gulped; and he was pretty sure that his eyes were on the verge of popping out of their sockets. Oh, god. She was entirely naked. At this rate, he wouldn't survive the week without suffering a heart attack. Especially considering that as he got more and more tired, she just seemed more and more inviting – and she seemed to say more and more suggestive things.

"Oh."

"Are they in the room anywhere?" she asked, biting her lip and scrunching her nose up. Her head was cocked to one side, her hair looking far longer than he'd thought it was – in fact, he was battling the urge to run his hands through the silky, shiny brunette waves.

"Let me look..." he replied, glancing around the bedroom for likely places that he could find them. He tried the wardrobe, succeeding only in tipping half of his clothes onto his head – but at least Nicki laughed. He loved her laugh; and he smiled to himself as he emerged from the pile of t-shirts, his attempts at finding the towels entirely unsuccessful.

He looked under the bed, finding only his empty suitcase and a pair of socks. In his attempt to stand back up with dignity, he hit his head off the bedside table – hard. With a resounding _crash_, the draw flew out of its' runners, landing on his chest as he groaned, cursing under his breath.

"Tom?" she called, concern lacing her slightly husky voice. He picked up the empty draw, placing it back on its' runners and beginning to sit back up.

"I'm alright!" he answered, leaning against the bed, "Bloody draw fell on me."

He heard her rush across the room from the bathroom; the sound of her wet feet on the cream carpet becoming louder as she approached him. A silky, tanned pair of legs were suddenly next to him, her gentle hands running through his hair, her fingers roaming over where he had collided with the draw.

"You complete idiot." She stated, and he could tell that she was smiling – he could imagine her coral blue eyes sparkling, and the way that she always partially closed her eyes as her smile widened, lips parting to reveal her even white teeth. Clichéd as it was; Nicki could light up a room with her smile.

He wasn't entirely sure where he should be looking – there was a mirror almost everywhere he looked – apart from behind him; where she sat. And he was almost entirely sure that she was wearing absolutely nothing.

"Do you want to borrow one of my t-shirts?" he asked – that being the only logical solution to the problem that he could think of.

"As long as you don't mind it getting wet."

Oh, Jesus. Sometimes he really wished that she wouldn't say these things.

Some people saw stars when they got hit on the head. Tom Clarkson, however, saw Nicki Boston sat next to him naked.

"Where are they?" she asked, her soft hands slipping down to his shoulders, resting subconsciously; her fingers tracing patterns, manicured nails lightly scratching his skin.

"On the floor, mostly, I think." He answered, and it then occurred to him that she would have to be practically right in front of him, completely naked, bending over, in order to pick up a t-shirt. He tried to avert his gaze; but succeeded only in finding a mirror with a perfect reflection of Nicki's naked body.

Oh Bloody Hell.

Their eyes met in the mirror; frozen for a few seconds. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, hair tumbling over her shoulder, but failing to cover the skin he couldn't help but admire.

"Sorry, Nick, oh God." He apologised, gazing at the cream carpet, knowing that right next to him, she was still staring as if she was caught in headlamps.

She swiftly picked up one of his t-shirts from the floor – crimson; possibly the same colour that she was blushing.

"It's not your fault," She stated to him blankly, "I'll see you at breakfast." She added in a whisper, swallowing. He could tell how terrified she was by the way her breathing had changed – it was erratic, shallow, and fast – and he knew that all the trust she had given him through last night had just disappeared within the last minute.

She scurried across the bedroom; grabbing her clothes and key card from the bathroom, escaping quickly and almost silently. He heard a sob from outside the door, and he sighed.

Nicki Boston was the most impossible woman he had ever known – just when he thought he had her figured out; just when they were getting close, he discovered something earth-shattering that threw everything into complete disarray.

But perhaps that was part of her attraction; the complexity of her character – knowing that he may be the only one who could get close to her – trying to figure her out.

-

She sat on her bed; tears streaming silently down her face. She wished fervently that she could reverse what had just happened; wished they could go back to flirting shamelessly with each other with no strings attached. Secretly; she'd enjoyed falling asleep in his arms last night; waking up next to him with his strong arms holding her tight.

She hadn't been as scared when he'd seen her scar last night – it looked less ugly in the dark; less brutal. But when he looked at her in the mirror; the ugly red marks sprawled across her abdomen, flawing the otherwise smooth skin, she was sure that he'd never refer to her as _beautiful_ again.

She'd never come to terms with the injuries on her body – everybody's reactions to them had taught her that they were something to be ashamed of. She knew that Tom hadn't been bothered by her scars last night; but she could just imagine the look of horror on his face, when he saw her war wounds.

She began to apply her makeup – foundation, blusher – not that she needed it – eyeliner, mascara, lip balm. The routine she went through every morning of every day; masking herself from the world, protecting herself.

She dressed in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, adding a necklace on top of Tom's crimson t-shirt. It was warm outside – the sun was shining; reflecting off the river as she stood at her open window. She ducked under the frame; leaning against the iron railings that stood between her and falling to the road.

Suddenly a shout came from the window above; and a garment fell past her, catching on the railings of the window below. Leaning out of the window further; she realised that the garment was something that one was quite likely to discover in the very darkest corner of Ann Summers.

What was more worrying than the garment itself, however, was the fact that it had fallen from Grantly's window.

She looked across to her right and realised that Tom was staring back at her – with what was probably an excellent reflection of her expression upon his face – shock, incredulous amusement, and an excellent plan for blackmailing a certain Mr Budgen at the soonest opportunity forming inside both of their minds.

-

_I hope this is alright. Please review and I will do my best to reply! xxx_


	7. I Walk On Gilded Splinters

_**I'm so sorry for the lack of updates!**_

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><p>They avoided eye contact as they ate breakfast – Nicki picked a croissant apart with her long, elegant fingers; licking the strawberry jam from underneath her manicured nails as she smiled to herself. Tom watched her from the corner of his eye; strangely entertained by the way she ate. He, meanwhile, was devouring a Full English with gusto. Red splatters of both jam and ketchup graced the crisp white tablecloth upon the square table. He had to admit; she was quite possibly the messiest eater he had ever seen – there were crumbs all over her, including several which had somehow made their way from her mouth to her eyebrows.<p>

Her eyes wandered around the room; the light from the chandeliers, which were, stunningly, still intact following a one night stay from the pupils and staff of Waterloo Road, reflected in the bright blue orbs; making them sparkle like perfectly cut gems. Across the breakfast room; Finn and Josh were flicking cornflakes at each other as if the air in London had mysteriously transformed them into seven year olds once more. Nicki caught Tom's eye; and the pair smiled as they looked back to the two teenagers.

On the opposite side of the large, cream painted room; Grantly entered sheepishly; hoping foolishly that his colleagues wouldn't see him and proceed to mock him mercilessly – he was all too aware of the cruel jokes which he would undoubtedly become the subject of.

"Here comes Mr. Ann Summers." Tom murmured; at the precise moment that Nicki was taking a large sip of tea (black; one sugar – bittersweet, just like her) which ended up mostly covering Tom. He looked at her indignantly; as if she'd just torn an expensive suit in two, rather than splattered a cheap t-shirt with a mouthful of tea.

"Are you trying to tell me to wear something else?"

She shrugged lightly; crimson t-shirt falling over her left shoulder as she leant forwards slightly; exposing the smooth skin. He was reminded of last night; the feeling of waking up to her warm body in his arms; her long legs curled into his, dark eyelashes casting a shadow across her face as the light hit her.

She really was beautiful; however little she believed it. Those eyes; enchanting, sapphire-like, deep blue orbs, entrancing him into their fairytale in which she lived so as not to get hurt. She was an enigma wrapped in a riddle; complex to the point of impossibility, stubborn and, frankly, one of the most amazing women he had ever been privileged to meet. Bloody hell, he was getting soppy. He could only imagine what she'd say if she could read his mind.

'_It's the air.' _ He told himself, _'Bloody cockneys.'_

"I bow down to your fashion credentials, Dame Vivienne Westwood." He quipped with a smile, awaiting her teasing response,

"Keep your hair on, Alexander McQueen."

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she looked back at him. Their gaze was cut by a stray cornflake flying between them; which was rather a miracle being that Josh and Finn were over totally the opposite side of the room.

"Shall we go and get ready?" she asked, glancing down and back up at him through those impossibly long, luscious, dark lashes. A stray curl slipped over her ear; the dark tendril framing her face, contrasting perfectly with her blue eyes and porcelain skin. She pushed her chair back away from the table and stood up; flexing her shoulders as she waited for him to join her. He watched her as he also got up; observing the way in which her attention seemed to flit around the room; eyes snapping from one point to another almost constantly. He supposed that was something which came from being in the Army – quick responses and a razor-sharp awareness of her surroundings. He smiled to himself as yet another cornflake flew just a few centimetres from her face; and, startled, she widened her eyes in shock at the foreign object; another of which was probably in orbit by now.

Today was going to be a good day. Chaotic, yes – but one hell of a day.

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><p>"And if we get a call from <em>anywhere<em>," Nicki shouted, "Be it Harrods or Primark; those responsible will be staying with Mr. Budgen for the rest of the trip."

This announcement was met with groans; as the students currently gathered around their teachers whispered to each other about their plans for the day. It was 9.30am; and the students were stood by Starbucks on Oxford Street in the least offensive way that they could manage.

"Have a good day; and be back here for half four. No exceptions!"

The gaggle split up; and the teachers were left leaning against the wall in a way which wouldn't have looked in the slightest odd had their students been doing it. Nicki had stolen a hoodie from Tom – she'd forgotten to pack for British weather, it appeared.

"Right, we all have each other's numbers; so we'll meet back here at four. I have the emergency phone." Nicki stated as if she were a spy briefing her team on a top secret, high priority mission, as opposed to a plan for spending the day in London with some teenagers. Admittedly, Waterloo Road's students had the ability to quite easily replicate the chaos that a military invasion would cause.

'_I don't know why they worried about the Nazis invading,'_ she mused, _'Waterloo Road pose far more of a threat.'_

The staff nodded, and began to go their separate ways. Nicki and Tom remained stood in the same place, as clusters of students, tourists and stressed office workers made their ways down Oxford Street, clutching either food, a map or a mobile phone in their hands.

"So, where are we going then?" she asked, looking at Tom directly with her piercingly bright blue eyes. Rain had begun spitting from the ominous grey clouds above them; drops landing on the grey material of her jeans and darkening them slightly.

"Breakfast, methinks." He answered, checking his watch. Both of them had eaten tonnes at the hotel, but they appeared to share the theory that the stress of taking the students on a trip to London would probably burn off the extra calories. Nicki began to make her way to the doorway of the crowded branch of Starbucks, when Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her in a different direction.

"Nicki, we're in London. We are _not_ going to Starbucks."

"Costa, then?"

He rolled his eyes, dragging her along as if she was a young child and steering her towards a small cafe with just a few people in it, off the main road.

"You're a cultural philistine, you know that?" he asked rhetorically as he led her into the small, 1930s building.

"Shut up and get me some food." She responded with a grin, dropping her handbag on a free armchair and leaning against it, analysing the small room as he stared at her in what he thought to be an inconspicuous manner. She noticed, of course, but said nothing.

As a matter of fact; she didn't mind him observing her like that. It made her feel special; different; and... _liked_ for having those qualities. However, much as she enjoyed the attention, the issue of the happenings in his hotel room that very morning – and, indeed, the night before – still remained as a block in their relationship. She was stubborn enough not to admit her feelings, yet equally scared of both of their emotions. And his reaction to her scars – her raw, emotional, human side – remained to be seen.

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><p><em><strong>What will the day hold for Tom and Nicki? And, indeed, the night? ;)<strong>_

_**All will be revealed next chapter. I will remember to update; promise!**_

_**For Hannah, and for you, if you've read the entire thing. I love you, and please review! xxx**_


	8. Seen It All

They ate their second breakfast in the little cafe off Oxford Street; both of them having a cup of tea and a slice of toast each – Nicki's with strawberry jam and Tom's with raspberry, which, inevitably, lead to the argument over which was better.

"So explain to me why strawberry is better again?" Tom asked, one eyebrow raised as he hid his smirk behind the remainder of his toast. She was currently wearing strawberry jam as lip gloss whilst trying to give a reasoned argument to support her choice of spread.

"It just..." she started, pressing her lips together in deep thought, "Is."

He gave her a look of disbelief, sighing and shaking his head, "Well done Nicki, you've baffled me with logic once more."

"Do you want to eat that toast or wear it?" she threatened, although the menace was somewhat softened by the fact that she had specks of strawberry jam all over her face, mixed with crumbs of toast. She rested her elbows on the table, the sleeves of his grey hoodie rolled up to reveal her toned, vaguely tanned forearms. She wore one bracelet; a silver one on her right arm with many delicate charms hanging off it – only one of which he could identify. A silver four-leaved clover, with a tiny green crystal in the middle of it hung amongst the other intricate silver carvings – all of which, he assumed, had been given to her as gifts, and had their own special tale as a part of her life.

They looked at each other for a long moment, ruined slightly by a young waitress arriving to take their empty plates, the tinny sound of her music radiating from her cheap blue earphones. Tom dug out a £5 note and some change to cover the bill, placing it in her hand and telling her to keep the change. He picked his jacket up from the back of his armchair as Nicki stood up, stretching her long, toned arms out and yawning.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked, holding the heavy door open for her to pass through. She smiled and bowed her head at his gesture as if she was a teenager, crossing out onto the pavement of the street. She had a beautiful smile – white teeth which were very slightly uneven, full lips, and a sparkle in her eyes which he'd only seen but a few times.

"I don't know," she answered, thoughtfully, "What about you?" she questioned, turning her head, hair flying out behind her. She'd left it in its natural state – thick curls cascading down her back just as they had done last night when she'd come into his room in her thin grey vest top and pyjama bottoms, her lean body shivering from fear more than cold. It was a very odd image, though he hadn't thought of it at the time – someone so physically strong; mentally strong usually, so vulnerable and powerless in the face of thunder.

"Shall we just have a look around, then?"

She nodded, and they set off down the thronging street, taking in the scenes surrounding them. Nicki grasped Tom's arm to stop them from becoming separated in the crowds, and so they walked, arm in arm, along Oxford Street; not unusual to anyone but themselves. It was almost as if earlier had never happened, and they were back to flirting shamelessly. Of course, it wasn't true, but both of them were ignoring the situation and concentrating on the present – which involved them practically holding hands as they made their way through crowds.

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><p>They were sat in a restaurant near Harrods' in Knightsbridge, both silent and probably weighing up the options open to them should they be saddled with the bill alone. Remortgaging a house might just about cover it.<p>

They drank wine, after arguing over which to order in the quietest way they could manage. They eventually came to a compromise on an expensive bottle of red; which the waiter had deemed the ideal choice to go with their meals – probably out of desperation.

"Tom, about earlier..." she started, gazing at the crisp white tablecloth as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, "Thank you."

He nearly choked on his wine at her words, gaining a few disapproving looks from other diners at his near-spluttering of expensive alcohol. He was stunned that she was still talking to him, never mind thanking him – he could tell that, as an exceptionally private and guarded person, she didn't like people to see her weaknesses, which she had inadvertently allowed him to do twice in the space of approximately eight hours.

She seemed to sense his surprise, and thus continued; "For not saying anything. I know you thought I looked vile, but..."

"Nicki, listen to me," he interrupted, "It's nothing to be ashamed of." He paused, internally debating what his next sentence should be, "You're beautiful."

Hell. Why did he have to say that? While she was, indeed, beautiful, he was pretty sure that he'd just sounded like an absolute fool telling her that. More to the point; she wouldn't believe him. And, predictably, she didn't – once more blushing a shade of red that he didn't know existed until this morning, and biting her lower lip as if she was trying to stop herself smiling.

"Thank you." she eventually said, after a long silence. Another pause followed, and the other diners seemed to fall silent, as if waiting for her next words, "You really think so?"

Now it was him blushing. Bloody Norah, he felt like a teenager on a date – it was awkward to say the least, telling her in the middle of a crowded restaurant how beautiful he thought she was. It was, perhaps, a topic best saved for when they were alone. Tonight, maybe.

He made some form of noise which signified a '_yes_', as their meals arrived – and he was convinced that the waiter was glaring at him.

"Oh, you charmer, Tom Clarkson." she murmured, smiling beautifully to herself as she looked at him from beneath her thick, long eyelashes across the table.

He, too, smiled to himself. She looked down at the table, staring blankly at the vast array of cutlery in front of her, a frown beginning to form on her face as she seemed to try and choose between multiple knives and forks.

"I think," he announced, also surveying the cutlery on offer, "That us northerners may be more suited to McDonalds."

Having selected a set of cutlery which was probably completely inappropriate, Nicki now had half a mouthful of overpriced chicken, and proceeded to almost choke on it.

"Chicken nuggets would _probably_ have been a better choice." She eventually concluded, having finally managed to swallow her food.

They caught each other's eyes across the table, and simultaneously saw the flickers of amusement in each other's faces. She bit her bottom lip as they both began to shake with silent laughter; Tom almost spluttering his wine everywhere as he tried to calm himself with a sip – a move which merely resulted in Nicki's complete hysteria.

"McDonalds it is, for lunch tomorrow."

"Is it a Manchester thing; not being able to _do_ posh restaurants?" Nicki pondered out loud, her head tilted very slightly to one side as it always was when she was thinking.

"I think so. Anywhere north of Oxford and you've had it, really."

"Ah well," she responded, sipping her drink delicately, "Could be worse."

"We've just nearly got ourselves kicked out of the restaurant. _How_ can it get much worse?"

"Well," she told him, as if it was the most obvious statement anyone could possibly have made, "We could have set it on fire."

Both of them were at this point blissfully unaware of the small crowd of teenagers gathering at the window opposite them; each one whispering and pointing at their teachers, making ridiculous assumptions and spinning themselves stories of Miss and Sir's romantic lunch in Knightsbridge.

And then, without realising the window was _not_ as soundproof as she had thought, Scout gave a squeal as Tom and Nicki accidentally touched hands and remained in their position just a millisecond longer than they perhaps should have done.

"Oh my god, they're gonna kiss!"

"This is _actually _low-level porn."

At this precise moment, both Tom and Nicki looked over at the gaggle of students with their faces pressed flat against the glass window.

"Ah." They said in unison, both cringing as they realised that his hand was rested on top of hers.

Nicki bit her lip. Tom leaned over the small table and whispered in her ear in what looked like a scene from a cheesy romance film.

"Shall we pretend that we _are_, just to wind them up?"

"Abso-bloody-lutely." She smirked as their eyes met, making fully sure that each and every student saw her. And, predictably, they all stood there like goldfish, looking at each other as if aliens had just landed their spaceship on the roof of _Harrods_ and were now making their way out of the store laden with shopping bags.

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><p><em>I'm not entirely happy with this, but then again, when am I? I'm sorry it's been so long; I've had writer's block and a lot of things went on. I'll try not to leave the next chapter for so long!<em>

_Please review – any ideas for the next chapter? I have such bad writer's block at the moment. P.S – when's Nicki back in Waterloo Road on telly?_


	9. Sunny Afternoon

**I'm so sorry about leaving this for so long, I am trying to keep writing, I promise, but it's insanely difficult because my laptop no longer works without being plugged in, so I hardly ever go on it (and so hardly ever write). Anyway, thank you for all your reviews – each and every one is enormously appreciated. Also, I'm aware that Nicki/Lorraine is a much more widely accepted pairing at the moment (Hannah/HedgieX and I predicted this about ten episodes ago), but we are nonetheless holding out for Tom & Nicki. Enjoy!**

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><p>So far, pretending to be a couple having an affair was going well. The students had tried to follow them around Harrod's inconspicuously, and had failed miserably when Scout, stationed behind a rocking horse in the toy department, had managed to tip an entire bottle of Pepsi on an extremely angry looking man's suit and had to make a run for it before she got chucked out, fleeing past the two teachers who had seen the entire debacle take place and found it highly amusing, being innocent bystanders who <em>obviously<em> had no connection to the teenager.

Tom and Nicki had then decided to go for a walk to Hyde Park – the sun had come out, and it was warm in London now. They walked silently, pretty sure that none of their students would be particularly interested in a walk in the park, and so they were able to talk about what they really wanted to, without worrying what the students would hear and what rumours would resultantly spread like an uncontrollable game of Chinese Whispers. The rumour would start out truthful – they had lunch in Knightsbridge together. It would then begin to mutate into a more interesting and extravagant tale involving the two of them going to a sex shop in Soho and coming out with flushed faces and crumpled clothing, at which point the rumour would reach the rest of the teachers, and the awkward looks would ensue. Amusing as it was, they could do without it at that present moment.

They sat by a tree in the park on the cool grass, surrounded by couples and families doing the exact same. The sun beat down on them, and Nicki stretched her long, denim clad legs out, kicking her shoes off and leaving them next to her feet as she propped herself up with her strong, tanned arms. Tom almost mirrored her posture, both of them gazing out over the park, squinting into the sunlight as neither had brought any sunglasses with them – mainly due to the fact that the weather had been utterly dismal when they'd left the hotel that morning, and they hadn't had the forethought to think that it was liable to change rather quickly, especially when they were prepared for one condition.

"Sorry about earlier," she began, knowing that she'd have to explain her scars and her reaction to him some day, and she may as well do so sooner rather than later, "I overreacted – I mean, it's hardly anything you've not seen, is it?" she smiled, trying to look brave but knowing that she wasn't going to succeed – she could feel his piercing gaze practically burning a hole in the side of her head. Thinking about it, that probably wasn't the best turn of phrase she could have used, but nonetheless.

"Nicki, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You've got a scar, that's that – trust me, I've got plenty of them. But at least you can say you actually got yours in combat – I've got a scar on my leg from where I trapped it in the oven door while trying to catch a pigeon."

"How did you trap your leg in the oven door, and why were you trying to catch a pigeon?!"

"_Please_ don't ask that."

She laughed, and he suddenly realised that her laugh was one of his favourite sounds in the entire world. The way she looked, too, was beautiful – dark hair silky and shining in the sunlight, blue eyes glinting, skin glowing. He made a mental note to make her laugh as often as possible. _Soppy git_.

They lay in the sun together for what seemed like hours, but was in fact only about forty minutes, before Tom decided that, if they left it much longer, Grantly would end up in charge of the kids and all hell would break loose – more so than had already been unleashed. Nicki, on the other hand, had other plans – plans involving her lying in Hyde Park for "approximately the rest of my life."

He pretended to agree, and waited until she'd closed her eyes again before grabbing her ankles and pulling her across the grass by them. She screamed girlishly, trying and failing to kick him as he tugged her across the park by her ankles, her long, tanned arms flailing helplessly as she laughed and screamed at him, before he eventually gave up, gasping for breath before realising that he was in _deep_ trouble.

She scrambled clumsily to her feet like a foal taking its first steps, stumbling as she got up and tried to grab the hem of his t-shirt, instead nearly falling flat on her face as he dodged out of the way.

"I'll kill you!" she shouted after him, chasing him barefoot across the park with her shoes in one hand, aware that they looked like children playing an extremely enthusiastic game of Tig, and also a pair of complete and utter idiots.

While running away from her in self preservation, Tom looked at her and allowed his gaze to linger just a bit longer than it should have done on her – she was sprinting towards him, long, toned legs stretching to give her the speed that was probably going to mean the end of him, her bright blue eyes flashing like gems in the sunlight. Suddenly, he felt a weight against his chest as he realised that, whilst daydreaming about her eyes, she'd caught him up and leapt at him, and they both fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion, seeming to gaze intently into each other's eyes as they hit the grass, Nicki landing right on top of him, her legs just either side of his hips, their faces mere inches away from each other.

It was only now that they really noticed the tiny details about each other's appearance. Nicki's tiny freckles on her cheeks, a tiny birthmark which was almost heart shaped beneath her right eye, the small dimple just to the left of the edge of her lips when she smiled. The barely noticeable scar on Tom's cheekbone, the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way one eye was very slightly darker than the other. His minty breath on her face for the five or so seconds that felt like several lifetimes.


	10. Lipstick Stains

**I'm back with another chapter in what I think is probably record timing for me. I have a cold from sharing a bottle of Bacardi with about eight people on Saturday night, so I only have myself to blame, really, but it means that my life currently has no more meaning than sitting in bed with a box of tissues, a cup of tea, cold and flu tablets and my laptop. Thank you so much for all the reviews – it's incredible to see that so many people are actually still interested in this fic after all this time ("After all this time?" "Always." – nice Harry Potter reference there). Enjoy!**

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><p><em>It was only now that they really noticed the tiny details about each other's appearance. Nicki's tiny freckles on her cheeks, a tiny birthmark which was almost heart shaped beneath her right eye, the small dimple just to the left of the edge of her lips when she smiled. The barely noticeable scar on Tom's cheekbone, the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way one eye was very slightly darker than the other. His minty breath on her face for the five or so seconds that felt like several lifetimes.<em>

She bowed her head so that a lock of chocolate brown hair fell from behind her right ear, framing her face and features perfectly to Tom, who was still pinned to the ground underneath her. They were both breathing heavily; a combination of chasing each other breathlessly around Hyde Park and the compromising position they found themselves in at that precise moment – any number of strangers around them would have easily mistaken them for a couple having fun on a sunny afternoon in central London, but in reality, the position meant that everything that had ever been between them was hanging in the balance, just waiting for one of them to make a fateful move.

Her elegant hands were placed one on his shoulder, the other on the vibrant green grass beneath him, and she could see them shaking very slightly as they were frozen silently in their position, their minds racing but equally totally blank.

_Shit_.

He moved first, his surprisingly strong arms lifting her up by her waist with strength she didn't know he possessed, and placing her gently on the grass next to him as he clambered up and offered her his hand by way of assistance. She blinked, surprised and confused as to what was happening, before taking his right hand with hers, picking up her shoes with her left, and letting him pull her up to a standing position. Good god, it was awkward.

They both coughed simultaneously, looking everywhere but to each other as Nicki slid her shoes back on and combed her thick, windswept hair with her long, delicate fingers. He placed one hand in his pocket, also running his other hand through his hair – without noticing, they were mimicking each other, despite looking in completely opposite directions as if nothing had just occurred.

"Right, well, we... erm... ought to be getting back." Nicki stuttered, exhaling deeply after she spoke as if to affirm what both of them were already thinking; _Never, ever, ever mention that encounter; ever, ever again. It never happened._

"Mm-hmm." Tom replied, nodding and looking down at his shoes as if they'd suddenly become the most interesting things in the world. Well, it was better than staring awkwardly at Nicki, however aesthetically pleasing that would be. He must _never_ look at her again; for fear that he might end up mentioning the encounter they'd just had in the middle of the park.

"What time is it?" she asked, as they began to make their way slowly across the park, both still looking everywhere but at each other.

Tom glanced at his watch, then back to the sky, as he informed her that it was twenty minutes to four, and they were due to meet the pupils in just over half an hour. He walked with his head high in the air, observing the sky whilst being almost blinded by the sun, which for the first time he could remember this year, was not hidden by clouds. They continued strolling through the park in an incredibly awkward silence, passing through several small coppices of trees, both of them looking in opposite directions. It probably wasn't wise for Tom, widely regarded as the most accident-prone person in the known world, to not be looking where he was going, but he nonetheless continued gazing aimlessly around him until the inevitable occurred.

They were just ambling through a coppice of trees when Tom failed to notice the large oak tree directly in front of his face. Still staring at what he could see of the sky, he walked straight into the solid wood as if he fully intended to keep on going, and fell backwards into the woman he was pretending wasn't there, and who had equally been ignoring his presence since she asked him the time five minutes ago.

Cursing loudly, he stumbled backwards into Nicki, clutching his shoulder and hopping on his right foot. Rather than asking him if he was okay, or even attempting to check, seemingly, she watched him hit the floor, his feet in the air, and burst out laughing.

"Thanks for the sympathy." he grumbled, still lying on his back in front of the tree which he'd walked into, and looking up into the face of Nicki in absolutely hysterical laughter. Bloody hell, he hoped she wasn't asthmatic – if she was, she sounded as if she was quite possibly on the verge of collapsing.

Eventually she managed to calm herself for long enough to crouch down so that she was almost at the height he was lying at, steadying herself with her right hand on the ground, until deciding that it was considerably wiser to kneel down next to him – and so she did, the denim of her jeans picking up tiny bits of bark in the grass as she knelt.

"Are you okay?" she asked, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. Why was that always her first response whenever Tom managed to injure himself? _Don't laugh. This is __**not **__funny. Do not laugh._

"Of course I'm bloody not," he muttered so that she could just hear. His feet were still in the air; a sight which nearly sent his (highly sympathetic) colleague into fits of laughter again, "I've hurt my flaming shoulder."

She snorted with laughter, trying and failing to retain a sense of dignity. She really wasn't good at this whole sympathy lark.

"Shall I kiss it better?" she asked; only half joking. In fact, probably less than half. _Shutupshutupshutup._

He raised one eyebrow, and that was somehow her signal to _just do it_.

She leant over his body without thinking, supporting herself with one hand on his arm, and softly placed a kiss on his collarbone, her soft lips leaving a slight stain of her sheer lipstick on his tanned skin and the edge of his t-shirt.

Neither of them moved for what felt like hours – they were both frozen to the spot, staring into each other's bottomless eyes as if they were black holes about to suck them in and drown them in nothingness... except there was more than nothing in both of their eyes. There was something – a glimmer. Just the way they drank each other's features in with their glass-like orbs. And it was a kind of magic neither had ever quite experienced before.


End file.
